‘It’s a lovely cottage,’ the estate agent said, snapping his folder shut. ‘You’ve done a beautiful job with this kitchen and the garden is fabulous.’ He ran his fingers along the smooth white Silestone worksurface.
‘Thank you.’ Karen wrapped her arms around herself and stood very still whilst the estate agent told her how much he thought the place was worth.
‘Are you alright?’ he peered at her.
Karen snapped out of her disappointment. ‘Yes, fine. I just expected it would be valued at a bit more.’
‘Unfortunately, the problem is next door. Your place is highly desirable, but the neighbour’s house is rather dilapidated. And what with it being semi-detached…’
Karen sighed. Shelley and Brian White weren’t bad neighbours. They didn’t turn up the telly too loudly or have rowdy parties; in fact they did nothing. Literally nothing. They just sat there all day, Brian studying the Racing Post and Shelley eating Maltesers.
Karen saw the estate agent out. He didn't know it, but he was the third agent she’d shown around and all three had given a similar estimate. For some reason she had hoped that this one would come in a bit higher. Silly really.
‘I need to sell it for more than that,’ Karen wailed to Nadia, her best friend. ‘Think how much the Carters sold their place for. Surely my lovely house is worth more than theirs.’
‘Let me put my thinking cap on,’ Nadia said.
The next day, Karen was late home from work. She saw the blue lights flashing as she indicated to turn off the main road. Her heart sunk.
It was a police car. And it was parked right outside her house. Karen jumped out of her little Renault and ran up the garden path. But the front door was locked, exactly the way she’d left it. As she glanced over the hedge to the White’s place, she did a double take. Something was different. And then their front door opened, and two uniformed officers stepped out. Brian stood on the doorstep, his stomach protruding from his white vest.
‘But it’s vandalism,’ he said.
‘As I explained Sir, we’ll file the case. If you could let us know what has gone missing, that would be helpful.’
And then Karen realised. Someone had taken a strimmer to the White’s garden. Everything was neat; all the weeds were gone.
‘What are you staring at?’ he snapped at Karen. ‘Was it you that done this?’
‘I’ve been at work all day.’
‘Me and the missus went to Sainsbury’s and when we got back, it was destroyed. Everything gone. The dandelions, the thistles, the lot.’
‘They were weeds and it was looking a bit straggly,’ Karen murmured.
Brian wagged his finger at her. ‘Mark my word. When we find out who did this vandalism, we’ll make ‘em pay.’ He waddled back inside and slammed the front door behind him.
Karen was delighted. She rang Nadia who denied all involvement. Not that Karen believed her best friend. Nevertheless, she decided to wait until the new year to put the house on the market and hoped that all the weeds wouldn’t have grown back by then.
It was late September. Karen had had another tough day at work and had just sat down in front of the television when the room was filled with blue flashing lights. There was a furore outside. Karen dashed outside.
Shelley and Brian were peeking out from behind their front door.
‘We’ve found three bombs in the garden!’ Shelley wailed, her quadruple chin wobbling like jelly.
‘And a whole load of pills.’
‘Bombs?’ Karen asked. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Who the hell would want to put bombs in the White’s place? This was a sleepy English village, not Kabul.
There were two police officers bending down examining something in the front garden. Another police car skidded to a halt blocking the lane and two more men got out, walkie talkies blaring.
One of the police officers in the garden stood up, a wide grin on his face, clutching something the size of a large can of beans in his hand.
‘The idiot is holding the bomb!’ Brian exclaimed. ‘It might go off!’
‘And look! His colleague is holding the pills. What if they’re poisonous? Don’t they need to wear gloves and put them in evidence bags?’ Shelley asked, breathlessly.
A policewoman strode towards them, a smile on her pretty face.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ she said as she held open the palm of her hand. ‘These are filled with seeds.’
‘What, cannabis seeds?’ Shelley asked, her eyes wide.
‘No. They’re probably forget-me-not, dandelion, poppy, cowslip and if you’re lucky some scabious and cornflowers.’
‘But..but..’
‘What about the bombs?’ Brian stood with his hands on his hips.
‘They’re constructed from biodegradable paper and compost and filled with wildflower seeds. Have you heard of guerrilla gardening?’
Karen could see that the policewoman was trying to control her sniggers.
‘Guerrilla?’
‘It’s when someone chucks wildflower seeds into an uncultivated space.’
‘You’re calling us uncultivated?’ Brian exploded.
‘No, Sir. But you have nothing to worry about. Someone has done you a favour here.’
Brian stormed back into the house, followed by his wife.
Ten months later and the world had changed beyond all recognition. The For Sale sign went up shortly before lockdown, and Karen lost all hope of selling the house. But she was in for a surprise. Come May, the White’s front garden began to bloom. As the warm spring spilled into summer, their once weed-infested patch turned into a miniature field of stunning colour. Come July, despite not having been able to show anyone around, Karen had an offer on the house; an offer substantially over the asking price.
This photo is of the wildflower meadow we grew at our old house!